


Blissful Blasphemy

by AtlasMothman



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Hannibal gets a tattoo, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter in Cuba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlasMothman/pseuds/AtlasMothman
Summary: TW: mentions of tattoos, scars, and a lot of blasphemous religious talkA short thing about Hannibal getting a tattoo. It leads into a discussion about love and religion.This is a quick thing I just wrote. I'm sick and no one else has read over it, so I'm sorry if it's not that great.Hope you like it!~ Moth 💖🦋
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	Blissful Blasphemy

After several quiet months settled calmly in Cuba, Hannibal finds a small, local tattoo shop. It's hidden away, past terracotta colored storefronts and down an alleyway. Despite that, the shop is clean and respectful. 

Will follows closely behind, but doesn't instigate any sort of physical contact. Except, of course, when the tattoo artist begins working on Hannibal's back. Then he laces their fingers together and meets Hannibal's eyes. He knows Hannibal won't make a face, won't flinch or hiss at the pain. Instead, he smiles at his protective lover and his blue eyes trained on his maroon ones for any slight sign of discomfort. 

It never shows, of course. 

Will chooses instead to make small talk with the artist. She's a quiet and polite slip of a thing, however, Will knows she must be a threat to reckon with if she runs a tattoo shop by herself. He can appreciate that. He also appreciates the way she doesn't ask about the branding scar on Hannibal's back nor does she seem to even care to ask. 

"Everyone has their stories," she shrugs and that's that. 

When they return home, Hannibal shows no sign of discomfort, but Will coddles him anyway- making him take off his shirt, helping him gently clean the freshly inked skin before putting a thin layer of cocoa butter over it. 

Just as he thought, he can still feel the Verger branding, of course. A layer of color isn't going to make raised, scarred skin go away. It does, however, make it less noticeable. When Hannibal turns to look over his shoulder to look at his back, he hums approvingly. 

"It's still there," he confirms. 

"You don’t want it gone," Will challenges instead. 

Hannibal raised his eyebrows and the corner of his mouth, amused, "How do you know?" 

"You keep and cherish all memories- even the less… savory ones." Will brushes his finger over the raised skin so lightly that Hannibal doesn't even feel it. It's a ghost of a touch. 

"Clever boy," turning towards Will and pressing his nose into his curls, Hannibal sighs, content, and inhales the ever-lingering scent of sun and coconut oil from his hair. 

Cuba and Hannibal have been kind additions to Will's self-care. 

"You just want to pick and choose what aspects of the memory to enjoy and when… This will help you." While Hannibal satisfies himself by holding him close, Will does the same by gazing over his shoulder to see the ink cascading down his shoulders. 

"I feel as if you are finding some enjoyment in this also," Hannibal teases. 

He's right, of course. 

Although Hannibal was a sight to behold before, now, Will can't keep his eyes off of the color flowing down his back like a road map of beauty. He wants to touch the raven feathered wing going down the right side of his back where it covers the brand. The color is so dark yet still has the deepest blues and purples like a fresh oil spill. 

The other side is the opposite: warm and bright whites, greys, and yellows. The feathers shaped softer like an angels' wing. It would play the part of a pure angels' wing too, if it weren't for the fact that the tips of the final feathers were dipped in crimson. 

"You look like an angel," and although the corny aspect of it would usually have Will scoffing at himself, the statement comes as a shaky sigh- like a prayer. 

He more feels than hears Hannibal's quick intake of breath that he knows to associate with quiet laughter, "A fallen one?"

"Is there a difference? An angel is an angel." 

Hannibal hums, "Many would argue with that." 

"Would you argue with it?" 

"Isn't that my purpose as your fallen angel, Will?"

Will can't help the laughter that bubbles up and muffles it in the crook of Hannibal’s neck, "You're supposed to argue with God, Hannibal."

"I do," Hannibal sighs, "Daily." 

"I know," Will gives him a reassuring smile and pulls back to cup his cheeks before giving him a tender kiss between his eyes. Hannibal closes them and then holds them closed like he is the one in prayer now and Will is the disciple, "You were made to question Him." 

A small, rueful smile, "Perhaps I took 'in God's image' a step too far." 

"Never," Will begins working his fingers through ashen blonde hair, "Everyone needs to be challenged."

At this, an honest laugh left Hannibal's chest, it was low and warm and Will wanted to curl up inside of it, "Even if by challenging Him, I damn myself and you? Does our mutual sin taste so good it's worth our souls, Will?" His voice had become a purr. 

Will only grins, "You know it does. You are the chef, of course." 

Hannibal's laughter comes so hard then that it turns into a spur of action and he lifts Will off of his feet and onto the bathroom counter.

"Be careful!" Will scolds, keeping his hands high on top of Hannibal’s shoulders in order to not touch the tender skin of his back. 

"You are the one who needs to be careful, Will," and oh what a devastating grin he gives, "Hands to yourself." He chides teasingly. 

The low, deep pitch of his voice and the flash of canines has Will tucking his nose into the crook of Hannibal’s neck just so he can inhale the scent of their mutual eagerness. 

"Are we tasting another sin, Hannibal?" Hot breath cascades over his neck in response. Will threads both hands through the older man's hair to keep them occupied. 

"One of many to come, my dear boy." 

Will thinks of himself as a young boy. He thinks of the yellowing white of the church he passed walking to school every day in rural Louisiana. He can hear the toll of their bells in the back of his skull- steady and low like a heartbeat. He even thinks of the few times he returned there in anguish years down the road when adulthood showed him that God was harder to reach than he had been previously taught. 

His prayers had always remained unanswered until, eventually, he gave up praying completely. 

Now, however, he could taste religion on someone else's tongue. It flowed through him and he knew that, in Hannibal’s arms, all prayers he could ever have will be answered. 

He didn't need his prayers answered, however, he just needed to know that someone was listening. 

"What are you thinking of, my boy?" And oh how he listens. Even in Will’s silence, he listens. 

"Blasphemy." 

Hannibal smiles like he knows, because he does, "Bedelia once told me that 'betrayal and forgiveness are best seen as something akin to falling in love'. I've already experienced my share, I'm afraid it's your turn now." 

Will swallows and nods, "I've betrayed God and humanity as a whole, but that's okay. I have you to forgive me." 

"Do you not desire forgiveness from others?" 

There's a hint of worry to his voice and Will is quick to snuff it out like a flame, "Their forgiveness doesn't matter to me, only yours does."

"My forgiveness is yours, Will, along with anything else I can ever give you." 

Laughter causes Will to lean back until his head rests against the bathroom mirror, "There's something to be said about your devotion to me, Hannibal." 

He grins, "Perhaps I found the right man to follow."

Will only hums, "If I gave you Heaven and Earth, Hannibal, would you cherish them?" 

"Yes," and the sigh he releases is so soft it makes Will’s chest ache, "But that isn't the only thing you'll give me, Will." 

Raising one eyebrow, Will leans forward again to rest his arms on Hannibal's shoulders so he can look into his eyes, "And?"

"You give me Hell, too, Will. Every day." 

And Hannibal's grin is so open, so playful, that Will decides that if their shared laughter and love means damnation and sin, then he never wants to see the gates of Heaven.


End file.
